


hair

by Doubledenim



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Non-Binary Sam Winchester, Nonbinary Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:33:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26291203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doubledenim/pseuds/Doubledenim
Summary: sam grows out their hair at college. dean lost the people who cut his.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	1. sam

**Author's Note:**

> this happened mostly because i refuese to belive either of them go to the barbers

Sam grows out their hair when they move out. John had given them both easy to maintain home clipper cuts for as long as they could remember. It had been an almost monthly ritual when they were younger. Dean would go first. He’d walk into the fluorescent lights of the motel bathroom and emerge with shoulders flecked with stubble. Then it would be Sam’s turn. They’d perch awkwardly on the edge of the toilet and John would pass the clippers over their skull. As the brown fluff spiralled onto the cracked tiles they could not help but try and catch a piece here and there. 

Head bowed and back itching Sam would watch as their hair got swept up. John sometimes spoke during the haircut but Sam could never seem to find the right words.The sounds of their father’s voice simply rumbled like distant thunder against their ears. 

After the hair was swept off the floor the shower would run hot and the water would carry the stubborn flecks down the drain. They’d catch Sam’s eye.

They don’t cut their hair for a year after they move out.

The fringe gets annoying. The duck tail at the nape of the neck starts feeling awkward. As Sam walks to the barbers they stop at a hardware store. They turn back around. 

Back at Stanford Sam stands in front of a bathroom mirror. The light in this bathroom feels less like a spotlight. This time they stand. This time they use scissors. They don't watch as it spirals away.

Ok so it’s their first try. Nothing is perfect straight out the gate. Jess laughs. Just a little. It sounds like a gentle summer rain, no hint of distant thunder. 

When Dean next sees Sam he doesn’t see the hair at first. The room is too dark to see more than a tall silhouette but he still grins into the darkness as he sweeps Sam’s legs out from under them. 

When Jess flicks on the light he gets his first glimpse of Sam’s hair. It is slightly more put together than when they first cut it themselves. Jess might have made some helpful suggestions. She might even have been trusted to wield the scissors herself. Sam might have even gone as far to trust her with the scissors- just to clean up the back. 

Dean’s eyes flick upwards to Sam’s hair. He takes it in. He looks away and back at Jess.

Sam goes with their brother and as they stand under the streetlight with Dean leaning over the trunk their eyes skim the back of his head. Deans hair is still a close cropped at home clipper cut. They’d probably bet money that he’d used the same clippers Sam still remembered. But his hair was uneven, like the person doing his hair had missed a spot or two. At the nape of his neck the hairline became jagged in a couple of spots. John had been gone longer than a few days.


	2. dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> deans childhood hair adventures

The first time Dean cuts his own hair he doesn’t understand clipper guards. He is sixteen. His father is away on a job but his hair is getting fluffy about the ears. Sammy sees him pick up the clippers and shakes their head. Dean rolls his eyes confident in the way that only sixteen year olds without parental supervision can be. His hubris and lack of knowledge catch up to him when his father returns and laughs at his fuzzy buzz cut. Dean's cheeks heat up and Sammy pretends not to hear keeping their nose in their book.

It takes the better part of two months for his hair to grow out enough for an attempt at shaping it. 

After that he always waits for a second pair of hands to help him. Usually his father. The gun callus on his left thumb presses into the nape of his neck as he pushes his head down. A combination of the falling hair and fizzing fluorescent lights force his eyes shut. He focuses on the buzz of the clippers trying not to fidget and brush the hairs off his face and back. 

Once he tries to cut Sam's hair. They were both due a haircut but this time his father's job seemed to linger on like morning fog in late September. He tries to make it fun. A toothy grin and some over the top enthusiasm. Sam flat out refuses. Maybe that bites a little but he pushes on, handing Sam the clippers. Sam's eyes widen and they smile from under their creeping bangs. 

This time Dean comes armed with the knowledge of clipper guards and Sam nods somberly as this wisdom is passed down. He demonstrates how to change the guards and explains what lengths the different parts of his hair should be. As he speaks he finds a rhythm of confidence in what he’s saying. An imitation of what he thinks a man at a barber’s would say. I’d like a one into a two and then fade it into the crown. After that just scissor cut the top I think I’ll keep it a little longer this time around. It babbles out. Sammy nods in mock seriousness laughing as the hair falls and perches on the end of Dean’s nose. Dean retaliates by trying to blow it at Sam who sidesteps the attempt only to watch as Dean manages to blow the hair at his eyes instead of his sibling. 

Ten minutes, one laughing fit (Sam) and a gallon of water to the eyes (Dean) later. Sam proclaims the haircut over and Dean attempts to regain the suave composure he’d managed to project. He preens in the mirror. You know a man as good looking as me can pull off any haircut. Even one done by- Sam knocks the air out of his lungs with a well placed uppercut and a smile. 

Dean chases Sam out of the bathroom trailing loose strands of hair into the room. Sam darts around a bed and stops, knees bent, weight on the balls of their feet, face flush and ready to spring. Dean sands on the opposite side of the bed eyes bright and ready to bring retribution down. He darts left. Sam goes right. He goes right. Sam goes left. Dean loses his patience and jumps on the bed running across the unmade sheets. In two steps he's cleared the bed but Sam has sidestepped him and he slams into the wall. Sam lets out a snort but cautiously walks back to check on him. And is promptly pulled down by a hand reaching up. After some flying elbows and an intense battle of wills Dean lets them up and goes to shower the rest of the hair off.


	3. sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sam cuts their hair in the bathrooms at stanford. jess helps clean it up.

It’s almost 3am on a sunday morning when Sam walks into the bathroom on their floor. Walking around in the dark still gives them pause, force of habit. It's late enough they won’t see anyone else which is why they decided now was the time. They’d bought the scissors four days ago in a moment of bravery and frustration. Now they weigh more than they have any right to. They close the door to the bathroom turning the knob as they do, careful not to make any sharp noise. 

Once the door is closed the dark feels welcoming instead of hostile. They lean against the cool wall, head back, skull pressing into the drywall, duck-tail tickling the back of their neck and inhale. They reach their left hand up and flick on the light. Suddenly they catch sight of themselves in the mirror over the sink. It's a little jarring. They don't really recognise the person looking back at them. Their hair has grown out a lot since the last time John cut it. The fringe just brushes the highest point at the arch of their brows. The sideburns are fluffy and stick out around the ears. The hair at the nape of their neck brushes the collar of their t-shirt and fans out so it’s visible from the front. 

They peel themselves off the wall and cross the room in three strides and place the scissors on the counter. 

Staring themself down in the mirror they start to psych themself up. C’mon you got this. C’mon it’s just hair don’t you know it grows back. Grows a half inch a month. Not the end of the world if you fuck this up. If ghosts don't scare you why should some scissors. I can always - they raise the scissors and take a decisive hack at the back of their head. 

The lock of hair slides off the side of their neck onto the shoulder of their t-shirt. The brown stands out on the purple of the shirt. They reach around with their free hand and pick it up. It's soft. 

They keep at it trimming the back slowly now leaving it blunt and uneven. Then they move on to the sides, pulling the strands out at 90 degrees to their head and cutting around their ears. Next up is the fringe. They hesitate. You know what ? Maybe I can leave it like that, I’ll just push it back. Maybe get a headband or something.

The scissors rest on the countertop and the shower starts running. As they wait for the water to warm they look themselves dead in the eyes and then start to turn and tilt their head. A lightness fills their chest and they smile. The haircut looks absolutely awful. But for once it's a haircut they chose.

They step into the shower and they don't look down the drain. They let the water run and this time it doesn’t feel like it carries any part of them away.

The next day they look in the mirror in the light of day and bite back a stab of disappointment. A hot flash in their chest and a sudden pricking of sweat. The fringe is blunt and thick and doesn’t lie flat. They stand looking in their mirror and for a split second they think about cutting it all off again. 

But then Jess walks in.

She walks in.

And it’s cheesy but the fluorescent light from the hallway shines through her flyaways and they look like a crown. And she laughs. She laughs and oh Sam why didn’t you say wait right here I’ll only be a minute.

Sam stays frozen. If it had been anyone else they might have felt judged but Jess’s laughter had been warm.

She comes back just as she’d promised carrying a bin bag and a pencil case. The pencil case confuses them. She pulls the chair out from the desk and parks it in front of the mirror, have a seat your stylist will be right with you. Understanding dawns on Sam and they smile. She pulls the bin bag around their shoulders and unzips the pencil case and pulls out a comb and scissors. I trim my own hair. 

She runs her fingers through their hair. Her hands are cool and steady her nails scratch gently on Sam’s scalp and they close their eyes. 

The snick snick snick of the scissors lulls Sam's thoughts and they daydream, drifting off calm and collected. 

There you go. Take a look. 

Sam opens their eyes and almost cries. They reach up crumpling the bag to touch their hair. 

Thank you. 


	4. dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean cuts his hair and gets a voicemail.

He calls. 

He calls. 

He calls He calls. He- he snaps his phone phone shut when he hears the start of the robotic voicemail.

It’s been two weeks since his job ended. Three since he’d set off in the opposite direction to his father.

John was never the kind of man to baby his children. So once he’d decided Dean was old enough and responsible enough to run his own jobs it was mostly a point and shoot affair. There's something odd going on there. I need you to go check it out. Yes sir. And off he’d be.

So no calls for a week was standard. Two was unusual but it probably just meant John was wrapped up. The case was probably just complicated, he had to prioritise, make sure it was handled properly. Three weeks without a call put Dean on edge. 

He waits in the town they’d parted ways in. Poking his nose everywhere he thought he might find his father. But a week passed and he couldn’t find a trace.

The restlessness starts setting in. The tightness in his chest and throat and the tension in his jaw made him ache. The coiled spring of his muscles forces him outside, walking every street in town till he has the spiderweb concrete sidewalks memorised and could have found his way blind. 

He unpacks every weapon and cleans them. First his colt. He takes it apart and oils every surface. Watches as the engraved sides gleam enough to show his reflection. Then he slides it all back together meticulously. Setting it aside he picks up the next weapon. He keeps going till every gun, blade and stake is clean, rust (or blood) free. Next he catalogues them and slams the trunk closed. 

His hand shakes.

That didn’t take long enough. 

It’s dark now and he’s revving up to do something truly stupid. Like driving up and disturbing his father on a job. He’d done that once before. Finished a job early and gone to meet his dad where he was working his own gig. That had gotten him chewed out. Putting himself in harm's way, distracting John, jeopardizing the case. He sits back down.

He sits down and immediately springs back up.

He runs his hand through his hair and rubs the back of his head. And that's just one step too far. His hair is too long. His hair is too goddamn long and the only people he’s ever trusted to cut his hair aren’t here. Sam is off in California working to set up a new life and his father is who the hell knows where not answering his calls. 

The tension he’s been holding in all day- and for the better part of the week if he’s being honest- breaks and bleeds into anger and frustration. 

If he can fix one goddamn thing it's going to be his hair. 

So he grabs his duffle, unzips, fumbles around the dirty laundry and closes his fist around the clippers. 

Next he stalks off into the cramped bathroom and flips on the light. It's an unnatural white and it hurts his eyes. He plugs the cord into the outlet and places the clippers on the sink. 

When he looks in the mirror his hair is spiky. The strands on the top of his head, longer than he’s used to dealing with have clumped together, held up by a coating of gel and sweat. His sideburns are long enough that the hair sweeps in toward his ears which are being encroached upon on all sides by hair.

Fuck this man.

He powers up the clippers slots a guard in place and hesitates. The last time he cut his own hair it didn’t work. The memory of his father's laughter feels jagged and hollows him out.

He inhales and tires to breathe around the knots that have formed in his throat as if ignoring the physical manifestation of his feelings will make all of it go away. He misses his family. It’s just him in this bathroom and in any other circumstances it would probably be cramped. This is no luxury motel. Now it feels too empty. There’s no one one here he can ask for help. 

He starts gliding the clippers along the side of his head. This he can manage. He can see what he’s doing. He can imitate the motions he’s watched his father make. The motions Sam once copied too. The clippers veer off course. There's a small bald patch behind his right ear and tears in his eyes. He blinks them away. Hard.

Whatever man Dad is probably fine just busy and Sam wanted space. It’s fine, it's all fine. I’m fine. Let’s just get this done with.

Another breath. This one judders as it goes down. Ignore it. He passes the clippers across the back and other side of his head.

Once he’s done he looks in the mirror, debating if he should trim the top too. He decides he can’t. It’s a little more complicated than clippers and guards. It needs scissors and a comb and an extra mirror and - that’s it. 

The tiny hairs all down his shirt and on his neck and shoulders itch so bad it almost burns. Time for a shower. It doesn’t look too appealing, with the black mould in the corners eating away at the silicone and the shower head that promises little more than a drip of water but it’s not like he has any other options. So on goes the shower and off come the clothes. He tries to keep it under 2 minutes. Force of habit. It doesn’t quite work out. If more than shower water wets his face no one is any the wiser. 

When he steps out of the shower and checks his phone he has a voicemail. 

When he listens to it he almost throws the phone at the wall.

When he packs his things back up the mirror in the bathroom ends up shattered.

He leaves the motel when it’s not yet dawn. He doesn’t feel like paying for the broken mirror and it’s a long drive to California.


	5. reunion

Sam looks at Dean's hair and sees the ghost of their father's hands guiding Deans shaking ones as he cuts his hair alone. 

Dean looks at Sam's hair and feels a twist in his guts when Jess curls her fingers through Sam's hair absent-mindedly.


End file.
